Yet to Come
by the monochromatic
Summary: Romano lies back and thinks of Spagna. Shameless porn born of the Kink Meme: you've been warned.


Romano checked the lock for what must have been the sixth time, turning the doorknob from the outside repeatedly. Again and again, he was met with resistance. _Safe_, he sighed, and yet, not an ounce of his paranoia was shirked away. All the same, though, logic told him he was alone, at least for the time being.

Swiveling his head this way and that, as if searching for intruders, Romano settled onto his bed. He strained, reaching across the space between mattress and wall to yank the curtains closed, just in case. He always felt so damn guilty. Only a few slivers of light managed to burst through the gap between the bolts of thick fabric, highlighting dust motes that floated leisurely by.

Not that Romano noticed this, of course.

He was nestled into his disheveled stack of pillows, shoulders cushioned by the piles of buoyant down. Blind to the sea of clutter that engulfed his room, he was focused on the task at hand. He started slowly, almost innocently, the way Romano imagined _he_ might do it, fingers sifting playfully through auburn hair. His other hand lay stiff, motionless on his thigh, uncertain.

Trembling, biting his lip, his fingertips mapped out his scalp, searching carefully, instinctively until –

"_Ah_!" Romano's index finger had nudged the root of that silly hair, sending shivers through his lithe, young muscles. Gently, he took the fine hair between his thumb and index finger, and began to pull. A low kind of caterwaul escaped from between his chapped lips as he unfurled the end. The sensation was mind-numbing, and he wondered vaguely if his brain might just turn to mush and slither out of his ears.

Deciding it was much, much too hot in here, he began to strip, divesting himself of his nightshirt. He rather disliked the plainness of the milky cotton and its absence of fashionable ruffs, sleeves ending in common cuffs without even the benefit of links. And the vulgar, open collar...

Romano's thoughts strayed to the many times he had served Spain his breakfast in bed, the many times his eyes had wandered to the slight expanse of tan, svelte chest afforded by aforementioned vulgar collar. A moan pushed achingly at his throat, but he refused to let it loose, clenching his jaw in an attempt to bar the noise. He continued to assault the rogue hair at the front of his head, twisting it now, twirling it around a finger and allowing it then to bounce free. Jolts of electricity sprang up and down his spine, embedding themselves _just above_ –

_Thump_. Romano froze, naked, fingers still glued to his curl. His whole body grew painful with fear and anticipation and _absolute rebellion_. He knew he'd heard something. It sounded like it had come from the hall. This was not a position he wished to be found in, not by anyone. Perhaps Spain had returned early from his meeting?

_That bastard_, Romano growled inwardly, _he _would _show up early, damn it!_

After a few minutes, however, when the house remained still and there was no knocking at his door, Romano determined that it was safe to continue. This time, so as not to waste precious minutes alone, he spread his legs a little, relocating his other, more negligent hand as he resumed fondling his curl.

Experimentally, he traced a few fingers across the dip in his clavicle, then up over his neck. Softly, lovingly, just as he imagined...

"_Spagna_!" he keened, pretending it was Spain's wet lips, kissing and nipping at the tender flesh just beneath his ear, whispering sweet nothings in Spanish – sweet, dirty nothings. Pretending it was Spain, lovely, dark, exuberant Boss Spain twisting and teasing that _one stray hair_. "A-Anto_nio_," he whined, wishing with all his might it was real.

_Creak_. Again, Romano stilled, downright alarmed this time. _Floorboards_, he thought, _definitely_. And yet, even as frightened as he was, it only exhilarated him. His blood pounded through his ears, heat singeing his skin from underneath. He was sure he was –

"_Red as a tomato_!" Spain's voice sang obnoxiously in his skull.

Scowling, Romano wrenched himself away from the fear, resolute that he would enjoy himself. _He would_. It was probably just a loose board, after all. This old house was full of them. _Idiot should have the place fixed up_, he thought, annoyed.

Ah, but the way his fingers slid up and down the curl just so, it eased his temper. Mewling, slipping complacently back into his fantasy, Romano let his other hand trail lower, away from his neck and over his chest. Out of curiosity, he brushed a nipple. It wasn't unpleasant, but...it did not do much for him, either. But then, what if it was Spain's mouth? Spain, pressing in on him, slamming him against the headboard, kissing and sucking on one of those hard little nubs...

Romano groaned loudly, tongue heavy with saliva and want. Then, a particularly harsh tug on that ridiculous, defiant hair sent him careening and he arched, the back of his head colliding with the wooden headboard. It stung, but the pain was inconsequential, comparatively. He pulled and tugged and stroked that little hair, and with every pull, he felt his cock twitch, becoming harder and harder, wanting more and more...

Wanting Spain's touch: Spain's fingers – oh, those long, deft fingers, calloused from the shaft of that infernal ax, from decades upon decades of hard work and ceaseless bloodshed. Romano could envision Spain's wild, green eyes, as he mercilessly tightened his grip on his own hair. They were not the eyes of the softened goofball Romano had come to know; they belonged to the crazed matador, or better yet, to the conquistador bastard.

"_Ohhh_." Romano's hand cupped his balls, stroking the underside of his length with the pad of his thumb, grip on his ahoge tightening until he was nearly yanking it out, God forbid. And in his fantasy, it was that deranged, psychotic Spain, torturing him a thousand times over with a hot, relentless mouth, somehow dominating him even from between his legs. Romano bit his lip until it all but bled, imagining Spain's perfect lips sliding over his cock, somehow still smirking all the while.

"_I've got you now_," he seemed to say, silently. Romano shuddered, imagining the specter of teeth grazing his most sensitive skin. He almost came then and there, and so whimpering, let go of his member. But he did not cease the attack on his curl, coddling it, running it between his nails.

A sharp breath caught in his throat when another noise echoed through the small space. A pipe, probably, or a mouse in the walls maybe. Maybe. Romano gulped. He should stop, should forfeit now before he was caught. But, but...

_But Spain_. Slicking his palm with saliva, Romano pressed his member inside his curled fingers, firmly stroking, imitating the suction of a mouth as best he could, without reference. God, he longed to see it, to see his Boss down on his knees, mouth full and cheeks hollowed... Of course, Romano knew better. He knew, even in his fantasies, that regardless, Spain would find a way to come out on top. The power would always be in his favor. _Always_.

Romano's hands jerked faster and faster, pulling and tugging in tandem, sending every one of his trillions of nerve endings into overdrive. His skin tingled and his gut churned as he began tapping into the final scenes of his fantasy. Spain, mad with passion, pushing him onto his back.

Romano fell backward into his silken sheets with a loud '_fwump._'

He pumped himself hard, imagining it was Spain's hand instead of his, imagining the maniacal grin on his Boss' face as he nudged Romano's lean legs apart, settling on his knees between them. God, that was it: Spain, his dark hair tousled and slightly damp from exertion, a light coat of sweat glimmering on the angles of his face, telling Romano all sorts of filthy things he was going to do to him.

But Romano would waste no time. "_Bastard!_" he'd demand, "_Do it, already!_"

And so, still wet with his own spit, Romano plunged two fingers inside himself. In his mind, though, it was Spain's cock, huge and hard and so, _so_ warm. And it was Spain, thrusting ruthlessly into him, one hand prying his legs apart, the other dragging agonizingly slow over Romano's deviating curl.

"_Oh_, _Dio, sì, di più_!" he begged of his imaginary Spain, grinding forward onto his own fingers, uncaring that the saliva was starting to evaporate. "I w-want your cock, Boss!" he moaned, his mouth running away from him, saying the things he worked so hard to lock away. He flushed, for the words – and the desire they implicated – embarrassed him greatly, even by himself, even in the dim light of dusk, curtains drawn and door firmly locked.

Panting, Romano wrapped that arduous hair around several of his fingers, straining it. Meanwhile, he slipped a third finger inside, howling at the pain, but more at the pleasure. "Fuck, please, _please, you bastard_!" he blurted, face burning with shame. His blush prickled down his neck and seeped into his chest, spreading like wildfire. Some very small, unoccupied part of his brain wondered if the forests near Rome were alight this evening.

Fantasy Spain, ever attentive, slid a hand from his knee to the inside of his thigh, fingers fanning out teasingly. Romano moaned, blissfully sore from that throbbing pressure inside of him. It was then that Spain would grab his member, without pretense, and simply begin to jerk him. It was imperfect, not always coinciding with his rough fucking, but it was enough.

"Is that good, my little Romano?" Spain asked, smiling. His verdant eyes, though hooded and cloudy with lust, were nonetheless genuine now. Romano nodded furiously, bucking upward to meet the pressure of Spain's palm. "Oh, my Romano," Spain sighed, "how I love you."

And in that moment, Romano's fingers hit that _one – perfect – spot_. A feral yell tore from his lips as he imagined Spain's cock pushing him over the edge, simultaneously yanking on that damnable curl. "Spain! Spain! Boss, _ohhhhh_!" he hollered, eyes shut tight as warm cum spattered his stomach, strings of unintelligible curses tucked between sincere endearments rolling off of his tongue.

Sleepy, he removed his fingers, lazily wiping them on the side of the bed, making a mental note to do his laundry the next day. He turned over then, burrowing under the covers, still naked, and allowed himself to fall into sweet, euphoric sleep.

"That fucking bastard," he yawned, deciding to leave the door locked. Dinner be damned, if Spain hadn't come home by now.

By the time Romano was snoring softly, however, Spain knew it was safe to leave his hiding spot amongst Romano's many expensive suits, hanging in the closet. It was a shame he had to lie to his favorite charge, but... _No_, he thought, chuckling quietly, _it's still too soon. He's just a boy_. It would be a few years, still, before he could make all of Romano's dreams come true, if only for propriety's sake.

It was more than that, though, he knew, slipping out of the bedroom door and making his way down the hall. Romano was too young to understand now. It would only lead to trouble...

Spain shed his clothes like a corn husk, leaving them a pile on the bathroom floor. Let Romano deal with it in the morning, if he ever did the laundry like he ought. _Fat chance_, Spain smiled, turning on the spigot and stepping under the warm spray of the shower. Grasping his cock – painfully hard – in one hand, he began piecing together what he'd just seen. He decided to start with his favorite part, watching Romano tug on that incessant curl as he cried out for his beloved Boss.

* * *

><p>Notes: So. First foray into the <em>Hetalia<em> fandom. This was born from a request I saw on the infamous Kink Meme, and I just could not resist. I hope you enjoyed.


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